


Drummers (Hit it Harder)

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Enjolras Has a Thing for Arms, F/M, Kissing, M/M, pining!jolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 07:45:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is the drummer in Cosette's band. Enjolras is not impressed by his sister's choice in drummers. Or their arms. Not at ALL.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drummers (Hit it Harder)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Parker_the_Thief](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parker_the_Thief/gifts).



> This is lame and I had SO MANY PLANS for this but it was a pinch hit and I ran out of time. Sincerest apologies.

His _arms._

It really wasn’t fair. Not at all. There should be some sort of law, Enjolras mused, about guys wearing sleeveless shirts with arms like that. The cut off edges of his shirt sleeves should have made him look like a douche, but they did nothing but accent his broad shoulders, show off his half-sleeve tattoo, display every string of muscle as he moved.

Enjolras was furious. When he became a lawyer or went into politics or whatever he decided to do with his life after high school, the first thing he was going to do was ban every drummer on the globe from wearing anything but long sleeves and baggy sweaters. Every single one.

Especially Grantaire.

Enjolras must have been staring, because he was snapped out of his thoughts by Combeferre snapping in front of him. Trying to hide his jump, he turned back to his friend.

“Were you listening to a word I said? Or were you too busy glaring at Grantaire?”

Enjolras sank back into the sofa under his best friend’s knowing stare. Ferre was used to this by now, he was sure, after about a year of lounging on the couch with their laptops while their friends practised and rehearsed. They had been asked to join in a fair few times, but a path paved in two broken violins was enough incentive for Enjolras to not want to attempt to travel down that road.

“Of course I was listening,” Enjolras insisted. He mustn’t have been very convincing, however, because he heard Cosette snort from across the room. He glared at his sister, getting only a knowing smirk in return and a stuck out tongue. She was the only one who knew about his little infatuation. Well, Enjolras expected that most everyone had figured it out by now, or at least had some idea, but it was Cosette Enjolras had gone to when it had all gotten too much. It was Cosette’s bed he’d fallen face-first on to, mumbling about infuriating people and blue eyes and _arms._

Cosette, for her part, hadn’t even looked up from her laptop, quietly reaching out to stroke back his hair. She said only one word, and did so in an understanding sigh: “Drummers.”

 

\--

 

Sometimes, Enjolras was glad that Grantaire seemed oblivious to his affections. Other times, he just wished Grantaire would address it and move on instead of _this._

Grantaire was infuriating. He teased and prodded and poked and seemed to know each and every single one of Enjolras’ buttons. He had a habit of coming over to him when the band took a break (whch usually happened when Cosette and Marius got all lovey-dovey and lost in each other, which happened way too often for Enjolras’ constitution to hold up) and leaning over his shoulder to see whatever Enjolras was working on, then proceeding to pick it apart.

With Grantaire’s warm body over his shoulder, his hair brushing his cheek, and _those arms_ reaching out in front of him, who wouldn’t be a little on edge? That, at least, was Enjolras’ usual argument when he snapped back at Grantaire’s suggestions and cynicism and turned them into arguments. Even if he felt bad about it afterwards. Even if a good handful of Grantaire’s fixes on his papers ended up being valid, sound reasoning.

Enjolras didn’t like being wrong.

He also didn’t like being put on the spot.

Which was why it wasn’t the arguments that were the worst parts: it was the damned _flirting._

Grantaire seemed to be a naturally friendly person. He had his moments, Enjolras knew, when he preferred to be alone or quiet, and he had a lot of bad days in which he raided family member’s liquor cabinets, but in general, he worked well in a group. He had a talent for them, for keeping everyone engaged and entertained, for knowing exactly how to talk to anyone he came across. It was a stark contrast to himself, who always felt a little off in social situations he was forced into until his parents divorced and his mom had met Jean.

That being said, Grantaire made a lot of joking comments here and there, and it was natural and accepted among their group. However, when Grantaire aimed these comments at Enjolras, he was at a loss, and he _couldn’t stand it._

One minute, Enjolras had been smiling and enjoying himself. He was sitting at the bar, nursing a coffee and watching his friends play. The only reason they could even play at the venue was because Grantaire was a couple years older than the rest of them and knew the bartender. The venue was used to all ages shows, and all too happy to supply them with coffee and tea while they played.

One minute, Enjolras had been content, watching with a little smile as Marius helped a sweaty and pumped Cosette off the stage at the end of the night. They could be sickeningly sweet, and Marius could be worlds clueless, but they were amazing for each other and Enjolras couldn’t help but be happy for his little sister.

Until he wasn’t.

Sure, they were an amazing couple, but that didn’t mean Enjolras was any more comfortable with seeing them make out against the bar, especially not when Cosette was so obviously the instigator and her hands were—

Enjolras tore his gaze away, hopping off the bar stool and making a little noise of discontent that he hadn’t expected to be echoed from behind him.

A tanned, muscled arm reached out to study Enjolras when he almost tripped over a leg of the chair, and oh no. Enjolras had been having such a good time tonight, he really wasn’t in the mood for watching his sister stick her tongue down Marius’ throat and then make a fool of himself to Grantaire.

“Gross, huh?” Grantaire grinned, gesturing with his chin over to Cosette and Marius. He was still a little sweaty from performing, hair frizzy and sticking to his forehead and he was still holding on to Enjolras’ arm.

“I’m her _brother,”_ Enjolras complained, adamantly _not_ thinking about how Grantaire’s shirt was unreasonably tight over his shoulders. “It’s so uncomfortable.”

Grantaire chuckled, deep and low, and Enjolras was _not_ going to whimper. The bar’s low, coloured lighting was doing unspeakable things to Grantaire, to the tattoo poking out under his sleeve.

“I can imagine,” Grantaire was shaking his head. He finally dropped Enjolras’ arm, but then he was moving in closer and that was even worse. Enjolras needed to get out of there before he did something stupid. “You could always make her uncomfortable in return.”

_“What?”_

Grantaire shrugged, taking a swig of beer, his first of the night, before leaning back in and _oh no_ Enjolras could swear his eyes dipped down to his lips for a moment, oh no _oh no._

“You know,” Grantaire was way too close. Enjolras could feel his breath against his lips, warm and smelling like beer which should have been gross but instead just made his head go a little fuzzy. “Give her a taste of her own medicine. Teach her to keep it behind closed doors.”

Enjolras looked back at his sister, who was giggling while Marius kissed her neck, probably still high off the rush of performing. It was enough of a sick lurch to have him throwing reason out the window, tossing an arm around Grantaire’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

For all his flirting and teasing, Grantaire seemed shocked at his actions, stiff and still against him. Enjolras was pulling away by the time things seemed to catch up with them, and then he was wrapping his arms (his _arms)_ around Enjolras’ waist and tugging him closer. Enjolras could feel the neck of the beer bottle still in Grantaire’s hand pressing against his back, but he didn’t care. He was kissing Grantaire, and his brain wasn’t really keeping up with him.

“I have a thing for your arms,” Enjolras spilled out in a rush between kisses. “And your—everything, really. And you’re infuriatingly cynical and annoyingly _talented_ and I’ve wanted to kiss you fo—“

He didn’t even get the rest of his sentence out before Grantaire was kissing him again, harder and deeper, pressing him back against the bar. Enjolras felt suspended in time. He almost went weak-kneed when he let himself run his hands up and down Grantaire’s arms, feeling the smooth skin and hard muscle he’d been admiring for so long. Distantly, he heard Cosette protest, saying something along the lines of how gross they were, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away—it was enough of a chore to free one hand long enough to flip her off.

“So. My arms, huh?” Grantaire laughed when he pulled back. Enjolras almost regretted everything, dropping his head to Grantaire’s chest and groaning.

“ _Drummers.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I had so many plans for this. And I just. Couldn't write Cosette or Marius properly at all. If you'd like to see a better version of this, hit me up sometime - I plan to make a longer, better version of this for fun and I think you'd enjoy it a lot more.


End file.
